


It (doesn't) feels like Christmas

by orphan_account



Series: Somewhat canon [1]
Category: the maze runner
Genre: "Paradise", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Deaths, F/M, M/M, christmas related, past character deaths, somewhat canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Basically a 2 times Christmas sucked for the Gladers and the one time it was moderately okay-ish.</p>
    </blockquote>





	It (doesn't) feels like Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a 2 times Christmas sucked for the Gladers and the one time it was moderately okay-ish.

*

 

_Before Thomas_

 

   
       Alby doesn't know how Gally did it, but the shank had succeeded in making moonshine and he wasn't sharing his recipe anytime soon. But thankfully he was more than happy to share his beverages, provided someone owe him a few favors and such of course. Gally also made it his own personal goal to get their resident blond completely plastered.

  Alby had been forced to intervene an hour earlier after Newt had become uncomfortably close to their bonfire. The blond was currently resting, sitting beside Alby, his head buried into the crook of the older man’s neck. Giggling like a loon. His breath was warm huffing across Alby’s neck, completely unaware of how the other shivered pleasantly.

     It had been some time since they Gladers had truly partied. Their workload and heartache seemed never ending. But as the younger Gladers danced and shouted into the night, high on endorphins and Gally’s alcohol, it made Alby’s heart warm significantly. This was their second year — assuming that their calendar, from the day Alby woke up alone within the maze and today, was correct. The weather never changed and didn't give any indication of what season it was. It remained cool always. At either 70 degrees or 75.

Newt whimpered, struggling to sit up, swatting at any assistance Alby offered.

“No, I can do it.”

Alby scoffed and rolled his eyes, “tell me that after you haven’t fallen more than twice since trying.”

Newt snorted and eventually gave up, slumping across Alby’s lap.

“It feels like Christmas, Alby.”

“Pardon?” Alby asked, confused. He ran his fingers soothingly through Newt’s wavy hair, his fingernails dragging pleasantly across the blond’s scalp.

“I said,” Newt repeated, his speech slurred somewhat. “It feels like Christmas.”

Alby remained silent for some time before replying. “How would you even know? We don't remember anything that was before the Glade.”

“Not true. You remember some stuff. Events and such. People and important stuff are just…gone. ’sides Christmas is a feeling.” Newt responded. “I feel warm. Safe. _Happy_.”

Alby smiled down at Newt. “But this is hardly Christmas weather or setting. Where’s our tree? Pretty gifts wrapped up in bows?”

“Don’t need a bloody tree to celebrate Christmas. It’s for family. Love. You’re all my family.… I love you guys. Even Gally. That piece of klunk.”

 _Love_. Alby doesn't think he’s heard that word out loud since arriving in the Glade, not that saying love was unmasculine or anything. It’s just they’ve all been too busy surviving to think of something so normal. He’s certainly thought about it often enough, however. His love for Newt is immeasurable.

“I love you most, Alby.” Newt whispers and when Alby meets his gaze he finds such fierce certainty there that he’s unsure what to say. There was a possibility it was the moonshine talking. Newt wrapped his arms around Alby’s waist and laid there, silent.

It’s not long before the blond falls asleep, his grip around Alby never loosening in the slightest. With a final look to dying embers of their once blazing bonfire Alby replies, “I love you too. And merry Christmas, Newt.”

He stays up for most of the night and wonder what tomorrow holds and that he should tell Newt soon without the foggy interference of alcohol.

 

*

           

_With Thomas_

 

         Oddly enough it seemed Minho’s life revolved greatly around having bonfires with other teenagers. The only difference there is, is that Alby’s gone. Gally’s gone. Chuck’s gone too, and Newt’s as silent as a ghost, pale as one too. Christmas — at least theirs — had probably past days ago. There’s certainly no point in celebrating it now. Too many memories and heartaches come with it. And then there’s fact that world outside is a burnt out, dying husk. So what’s the point? Minho doubts that most of the living today even know what it is.

     After they're done eating whatever Brenda’s managed to cook up that came from her rucksack, Newt turns in early, leaving the majority of the Gladers still up. He doesn't know why but they all begin to talk of home; which had once been their prison. It’s weird but in a way Minho misses the Glade as well. Everything had been so uncomplicated. All they had to do was survive the day, keep the crops growing, feeding the animals. Now they were forced to travel through some apocalyptic wasteland with a girl that couldn't stop mooning over Thomas. But to be fair Thomas was doing the exact same thing while angsting over Teresa. _That bitch_.

He’s startled away from whatever memory holds him and looks up to meet Thomas’s gaze. The brunet’s eyes look curious, his mouth opened in an awe sort of expression.

“You guys celebrated Christmas in the Glade?”

Minho was going to kill whoever had told Thomas. There are some things he never ever wants to hear again. And it definitely shouldn't be repeated in front of Newt.

“Yeah,” Minho answers angrily, his brows furrowed, scanning the remaining Gladers around him. “Why.”

“Well it’s just surprising. How do you guys even know what day or anything. There wasn't any calendars in the Glade beside your own.”

“Guesswork.” Minho answers. “Newt started it.”

“What did you guys do?”

“Drink. Burned shit. Lived. I don't know what exactly you're looking for, Thomas. It’s not like it matters anymore.”

Brenda snorts in agreement. The other Gladers look sad, depressed. Jorge looks on, indifferent.

“It will. Once this is all over we can celebrate properly. You’ll see.”

Minho knows by now that not everyone can keep their promises but he does not challenge Thomas over it. It’s a nice thought and it’s always the thought that counts. _Right_?

 

  
*

  
_Without Newt_

 

       They accomplish it. _Paradise_. Or at least a version of it. It doesn't come free and it requires hard work from them all — former Gladers and a number of people that joined over the years. Right now they all rest comfortably, waiting for the seasonal rains to die down. For now they wait inside the houses they’ve built from the ground up, listening and waiting.

     Minho’s skin is cool pressed against Thomas’s skin, the shorter boy’s hair is plastered to his forehead from the rain. He had ventured out earlier to lock up their animal’s pens. Brenda and Jorge are in another part of their house, sleeping or doing who knows what.

     After Teresa’s death Thomas’s and Brenda’s relationship — if one could even call it that — dissolved quickly. The hurt of Teresa’s death was too great and Thomas didn't want to dishonor her memory by moving on so quickly. Brenda had waited patiently. A year passed and then another and another until finally she knew he would not move on and gave up. Things were awkward but they still managed to get along for the sake of everyone’s survival.

“It’s a shucking monsoon outside,” Minho said, laughing under his breath as he struggled to wrench his wet t-shirt over his head.

“It’s a good thing everyone’s inside then.” Thomas replied.

“I don’t know how. We never had rain like this in the Glade. They all should be out there, acting like nuts.”

Thomas’s lips curl up into a smile.

“Everyone would've loved it here.”

By everyone Thomas means everyone they’ve lost. Chuck, Newt, Alby and many more others. He supposes he could include Gally to equation as well as the teen left a year ago to seek out his own personal paradise.

“Tell me something I don’t know, dipshit.” Minho snickers. “That reminds me. You still gonna follow through with your promise?”

“Tell me. I can’t remember everything.”

“Our Christmas.”

 _Christmas_ …

Thomas sighed. “I wonder if our people even knows what that means.”

“I guess you’re right,” Minho says. “But I guess everyday is Christmas for me. We made it and you're here with me. It’s not perfect but it’s ours.”  
Minho’s voice cracks as he continues on. “Newt would've been so fucking proud.”

Thomas nods his head in agreement before standing up, offering his hand out to his friend. “Let’s go get the others then. Jorge’s got to have a little something for today.”

Minho takes his hand and follows.

 

 

_Merry Christmas, shank._

**Author's Note:**

> Now I am sad forever. Bye.


End file.
